


Had To Perish Twice

by Rubynye



Series: Fire And Ice [8]
Category: Star Trek XI
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Genderswap, M/M, Mirror Universe, Non Consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-09
Updated: 2010-07-09
Packaged: 2017-10-10 11:20:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of the Situlan revolt, or, Jim sees murder in his Bones's pretty eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Had To Perish Twice

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prequel to Part 6 of [And Would Suffice](http://rubynye.livejournal.com/424591.html), but you don't have to have read that to understand this. Also: Be warned for potential character death (I couldn't figure out a better way to put it than this.)

  
He's surprised by how long it takes her, and kind of proud that she gets there in the end.

That's his Bones, after all. She knows how to open a man up so cleanly he barely bleeds, has access to hundreds of poisons and the anatomical secrets of several major races, but she only ever wants to put people back together, she even sulks when they die. The first week after Jim removes the chip from Joanna's arm he sees more smiles from Bones than he usually gets in six months; when her eyes shine and her cheek dimples like that he can't keep his hands off her, but her cheerfulness makes him so suspicious he doesn't keep her in his bed afterwards like usual, instead sends her to his shower and back to her quarters. She just glances at him, a smile tucked in the crease of her cheek, and all but bounces out of his quarters, night after endless night.

For a week he tosses and turns and stabs his pillows in sleepless frustration, while Dr. McCoy glows all over her fucking Medbay, which is six point nine-repeating days longer than it should've taken him to remember: this is his Bones. There's less threat in her than in her daughter, who'll at least giggle over private knife lessons when her Momma's back is turned, who exchanges angry words with a frisky boy and breaks his nose. Jim talks Bones down after that little nothing of a fight, laughs at her bitching and takes her to bed, and keeps her there, soft and warm in his arms for six hours of the best sleep he's had in eight days. He wakes up first and she's the same as ever, her hair a dark cloud on his pillow, her lips slack and eyebrows relaxed, her face smoothed and young and more innocent than Jim's ever been in his life.

So he pinches her arm, watching all the lines crinkle back into visibility as she wakes up, her eyebrows scrunching together as she blinks open hazy hazel eyes. He grins and kisses her hello, fucks her good morning as she grumbles at him until she moans. She's his Bones, and she's exactly the same, her brilliant mind and naked heart, grouchy and so harmless he keeps a fence of crew around her.

He can do that. He's the Captain and she's his Bones. When they reach Terra for a refit he lets her send Joanna and Chapel to Jellico Academy, kisses her while she cries and savors the bittersweet of her tears, and watches her start smiling again when she thinks no one's looking. The Empress and her Admirals send the _Enterprise_ back out with a mandate to put down rebellions and expand the Empire's borders; Bones keeps on grousing and muttering and healing everyone Jim allows her to, and folds him in her soft arms no matter what she says. She's the perfect completion to his beautiful ship and his indomitable crew, and with her to fix him and fuck him and keep him warm Jim has everything he could need to conquer the galaxy.

He starts this mission by putting the Situlans back in their place, utterly destroying their planetary fleet for good measure, laughing along with Sulu at the glee Chekov takes in individually blowing up each minuscule fleeing shuttle. That night Bones tries to criticize Jim's strategy until he reminds her he's the Captain, and only a few bruises and kisses later she grumbles down to quiet, goes limp and falls asleep. However, in the morning he wakes up to the prickling feel of being observed, so he keeps his breathing even and cracks an eye.

The lights are at 50%, plenty of illumination to see Bones sit up beside him and hug herself with crossed arms, one hand cradling the bitten patch on her throat that kept throbbing so perfectly under his teeth. She looks at Jim, not warily, not hungrily, not diagnostically, though that's the closest to her current expression. Her mouth is shut, her eyebrows alert, her eyes slightly narrowed and blinking infrequently. She peers at him and he holds his slitted eye steady, doesn't blink, doesn't move as for the first time since Jim met her five years ago he feels the slightest twinge of danger from Dr. Leah McCoy.

She inhales, nostrils flaring as she closes her eyes, and turns away with a little headshake as if talking herself out of the plans shining through her face. It's taken five years and sending her daughter away for her to even let herself think it, but his little Bones has finally realized she's close enough to the Captain to try it, after all the time she's spent insisting she doesn't have it in her to end a life.

For long moments all Jim feels is amused pride. Everyone has murder in them, everyone has at least one thing they'll kill for, and finally his grumpy little angel of mercy turns out to be just like any other sentient. Eventually a sense of betrayal wells up, as Bones sits beside him breathing to calm herself, as his nerves begin to jangle and his body twitches towards action. For five years he's kept her as his CMO and his Woman both, he's never Agonized her, rarely shared her, kept her and her daughter safe. He should be livid at her ingratitude, Jim thinks, watching Bones frown as she stares at nothing, as she tentatively strokes the bitten bruise on her neck. She has absolutely no chance of reaching the knife beneath his pillow, and he would've felt her get up to retrieve her hypo from where he tossed her trousers, so she has to be unarmed right now. He could challenge her, he could take her, he could break her, but he doesn't lift a finger or an eyelash.

Jim lies there beside Bones, as she shuts her eyes and tips her head back, and wonders why he isn't strangling her before she can move against him. He killed her predecessor Xa with his bare hands for trying to poison him, he choked McGivers for betraying him and that Lester woman for trying to steal his ship, he knows the delicate feel of a woman's throat collapsing under his hands and he doesn't know why he isn't reaching for it now. He bargains for leniency with himself as he watches Bones push her fingers into her thick hair, tracks the weighted rise and fall of her breasts as she sighs, tells himself it would be enough to slam her into the wall and scare the mutiny out of her, but still he doesn't move a muscle. When she gives him a more familiar glance, all wariness and intimacy with a side of heat, all he wants is to roll her under him and feel the warm heft of her body as he sinks into her, every plush curve cushioning him as she tells him she hates him and wraps herself around him.

The prickle of danger dwindles like pins and needles fading. Jim counts five more breaths, as Bones drops her hands to her lap and closes her eyes again, until she heaves those juicy breasts with a deep sigh and turns to swing her sleek legs out of his bed.

Keeping up the sleepy act a little longer, Jim throws an arm across her waist and tugs, her ribs jerking under his hand as she gasps. "Who said you could get up?" he mumbles into the softness of her hip, and she quivers against his mouth.

"The _chrono_, Captain," she snaps like always, sanitizer-chapped hands clenching over his shoulders as he kisses up the tender little folds of her side. "Alpha shift starts in -- really -- _oh--_" as he licks along the curve of her breast and closes his mouth around her nipple. "Kirk, let go, for God's sake we've both got--"

"Bones, I know what time it is." Jim lifts his head, tugging her down so they're nose to nose. She throws a hand back to support herself as she frowns at him, eyebrows scrunched down, full bottom lip outthrust, and he searches her hazel eyes for that assessing look from before, for any hint of murderousness.

He only sees his Bones, confused and annoyed and warm against him, and he drags her down, mouthing the curves of her breasts as she whimpers curses at him, sucking roughly on her crinkling nipples until she's groaning and clutching at his hair. His pulse bangs a triumphant drumbeat in his chest and wrists and dick as he slides two fingers into her slick heat, as he thumbs her clit until she digs her sensible blunt nails into his shoulders; her hips jerk helplessly against his hand as he works her like he always knows how, as she arches and sobs and he drags a long shuddery orgasm out of her.

Eventually Bones whimpers and collapses onto the mattress, shaking under Jim, and he grins against her pounding pulse, tugging his fingers out. Her warm breasts quiver alongside his cheeks as she gasps, "Five minutes until we're late," her trembling hands reshape from clawing at his shoulders to shoving at them. Just before he'd bruise a reminder into her she adds, "_Sir,_" thick and drawled and dripping with sarcasm.

Jim rests his chin on her breastbone, drapes his palm over her perked nipple and sucks her musk off his wet fingers, grinning wider at the dazed darkness in her eyes, then grabs her round hips and flips them both over. Her belly's as pillowy against his dick as her tits were around his face; he could fuck her, but it feels like time for a show of trust, so he shoves her down, advising, "Then you've got four to blow me." Bones squirms plushly down his legs, pushing her messy hair out of her narrowed eyes, and Jim nearly comes just from the laser heat of her glare.

To say nothing of the lush slide of her soft lips down his dick, the way her tongue ripples like she's cursing as she sucks. Jim digs his fingers into the mattress, braces his heels and hangs on as Bones works him fervently with her clever fingers and hot gorgeous mouth. She pulls out all the tricks he's taught her, twisting fingers and curling tongue, pushing down enough to swallow around him, like always convulsively gagging once before she can control it. "C'mon, Bones," he mutters before he realizes he's talking, and has to slam his eyes shut against the long fair smoothness of her back, scattered with the marks of his mouth, against the way her hair tumbles silkily over his belly as she sucks harder, bobbing steadily, nudging her knuckles below his balls. It's a struggle not to let her pull it out of him, to shove the orgasm back when faced with her familiar resentful huff and hot mobile mouth, but Jim always enjoys rising to the challenges Bones sets him. He snickers through gritted teeth, considers demanding she finger him and gasps as that image buffets his control with a wave of heat.

Instead he grips a fistful of hair just to annoy her, moans dramatically and fucks her face, squashing an indignant noise out of her as she digs those shallow fingernails into his thigh. He relishes the bright crescents of pain, the tingling sparks of her teeth now that she can't carefully keep them away, and best of all her muffled vibrating whimpers; every scrape pushes him back, every suck pulls him forward, and by the time Jim has to give it up with an actual honest, guttural groan as he comes, Alpha shift has definitely begun.

He lets go, shoving his eyes open to watch as Bones scrambles up coughing, her cheeks an inflamed red, and there's that murderous glint in her streaming eyes, underlying her usual mute fury. Flushed and sated, Jim slumps back against his pillows and smiles crookedly at her as she swipes her hand across her wet face, and thinks warmly that if she asked him for anything right now he'd give it to her. Anything except letting her go. "It's bad form for the CMO to be late for shift," Jim observes, his voice still a little cracked around the edges, and her eyes absolutely flare, solid rings of white around the hazel, before she flings herself off his bed.

She still waits until she's in his shower to shout, "Go to Hell!", so that's when he finally lets himself laugh. However, instead of muttered curses or one of those entertaining rants, Jim hears her puzzled, "What the--" just before a soft thud, nearly lost under the pattering, raises wary prickles on the back of his neck. He's on his feet before the low whirr fully registers, but he reaches the shower as the last wisps of light from a transporter beam curl into nothingness amid the falling water, the sponge Bones uses lying on the floor.

Some suicidally audacious asshole just snatched his Bones right out of his quarters. Jim's reflexive grab catches nothing but water streaming over his hands, and all he hears is his own snarl echoing in the empty shower. After too many moments he shuts it off and pivots back to his room, forcing himself to move through the red haze, to think through his pounding fury. Bones sounded surprised, and Jim knows she's a terrible liar, but she's already shown hidden depths this morning, could she have managed to act after all? As he jerks on his pants, Jim slams his hand into the wall comm and growls, "Security, _report_."

"Captain!" Jim turns away from the screen as he fastens his fly, but he doesn't have to see Sulu to hear the ruffled edge to her usually smooth voice. "There have been three unauthorized transports -- no, four, five, six reports of unauthorized transports off the ship--"

"Add the CMO to the list. From my quarters." Jim shoves down the howl in the back of his head -- _Bones, they took my Bones, they took her_\-- pulling on his vest as he continues, "Log locations, times, and identities of those kidnapped, and comm the XO." Jim barely hears Sulu's 'aye' before he smacks the panel again. "Kirk to Engineering. Scotty!" he shouts. "Who's taking my crew?"

"I'm tracing the signal now, Captain!" Behind Scotty's harried face, Chekov crowds into view, curly hair all messed up and gold shirt missing, his scowling head floating pale and pissed-off above his black undershirt. "They tried to take Lieutenant Chekov here, pulled him right out of his uniform."

"How'd they fail, Mr. Chekov?" Jim wiggles his feet into his boots, careful of the knives, holding his head and shoulders steady. Scotty glances leftwards, rolling his eyes and jittering, and Jim dismisses him with a nod, letting Chekov take the screen.

"My Agonizer, Captain." Chekov lifts his chin, distracted from being angry by a chance to show off. "I was able to act before the beam constrained me. I shattered it on the floor, releasing EMP that disrupted transport."

"Lad, you're lucky it reversed," Scotty puts in from offscreen. "It might've disrupted _you_ instead."

"And you would stand still and let yourself be taken?" Chekov snaps, back to pissed off. A text window pops up onscreen, Sulu reporting from Security that the number of abducted crewmembers is up to eleven.

Scotty charges back into view, almost nose-to-nose with Chekov. "I'd wait to see the bastard's face directly, so I could smash it in and have his guts for a phaser belt!"

That's nice, but it's not getting them closer to the culprit, to getting Bones back. Jim snarls and they both glance at him. "Gentlemen, _enough._ The agent responsible has abducted eleven members of the _Enterprise_ crew, including Dr. McCoy." Their eyes widen. "Trace those signals, Mr. Scott. Mr. Chekov, help Engineering determine how transport was effected through our shields. Kirk out."

Jim straps on his main dagger, knots his sash, and picks up his handheld comm just as it goes off. This caller's Spock, goatee just about bristling. Jim didn't see Uhura on the list of kidnapped crew, but he nods in greeting anyway, and Spock reports, "Captain, Lt. Commander Uhura has been the victim of a long-range attack and attempted abduction."

"I'm glad to hear she's still aboard." Jim sets off down the hall, moving fast, one hand on his Agonizer in case he starts to feel a transport tingle and just for the comfort of gripping something that causes pain. "That's more than I can say for my CMO."

"So we heard in Medbay," Spock answers, and Jim notices the white, brightly-lit ceiling framing his sleek head. "At the inception of transport I surmised that an electromagnetic pulse might disrupt the beam before the Lieutenant Commander dematerialized, so I destroyed my portable Agonizer to create one."

"Chekov had the same idea." The turbolift opens for Jim. "I'll have to tell him he thinks like a Vulcan," which doesn't fail to be funny, even now.

A blinking text message draws Jim's attention from Spock's raised eyebrow, and he reads Scotty's 'Transp Dest: Situla Secunda, W Hem, NW Reg' as he listens to Spock report, "My plan was largely successful, but for the loss of three fingers of her left hand."

"That's a pity, they're pretty fingers." Anger simmering low in his belly, Jim notes with a grim lack of surprise that four of the rebellious territories lie on the Western Hemisphere's Northwestern landmass. "What does Dr. M'Benga say?"

"His current prognosis is twenty-seven days to complete regeneration. As Uhura retains use of her dominant hand, she will be stabilized enough to return to the Bridge in approximately thirty-two minutes."

It took just six to abduct eleven crew. "I need her now, Spock. Put me through and head to the Bridge."

"Yes, Captain." Spock passes his comm to Uhura, who looks remarkably impassive for someone abruptly robbed of half her left hand, fine beads of sweat along her hairline the only cracks in her smooth lovely mask.

Jim occasionally wonders if Spock gives her lessons in Vulcan control, or if they're fucking because she doesn't need them. "I hope you hadn't just painted those fingernails."

Uhura's eyes narrow, but then she likes being annoyed at Jim. "Thank you for your concern, Captain. Your orders?"

Jim stops the lift and thumbs the scrambler on his comm; the link wavers for a second, Uhura's image briefly fuzzing into static as the lift's recording is blocked. "So far it looks like a Situlan faction is behind this." He waits for her nod to confirm their connection is back up. "They took my CMO, Quartermaster, and Transporter Chief, and made attempts on my Navigator and Comm Officer. Someone aboard told them who to hit, and where."

Uhura nods again. "They may have evacuated their spy among the abductions. I'll have my staff check the missing crew's consoles, fingerprint and voiceprint message records. The CMO included?" Her voice goes a little sly.

Something twists in Jim's chest. "Yes." Which is why he needs to know. "Meanwhile, I have a job just for you. The spy might still be onboard to report on whatever chaos they hoped to cause. I need a program to catch any further unauthorized communications between anyone on the ship and Situla Secunda, and I want you to monitor it. You can do that from your quarters, but report any findings only to me."

"Yes, Captain. Then I have calls to make." Jim nods dismissal, and she cuts the connection, allowing the flood of text reports to scroll unimpeded across his comm screen. He thumbs off the jammer, re-starts the list, and reads until he reaches the Bridge: no more abductions reported, no goods lifted, all decks buzzing, updates from Chekov and Scotty, and a message via Communications from the Situlan rebels, claiming responsibility and listing demands.

"I thought we wiped them off this dirtball," Jim mutters as he slumps into his chair, calling up the message on the arm display. It's from the same stupid rebel group, or at least enough of a remnant to use the same message relays. In the wake of some recent pandemic, the tottering Situlan government lost control of a broad swath of their territories, whose coalition declared themselves the true government and coincidentally free of the Empire. Jim incinerated all the rebel locations given by the Situlan Council, after he slagged all their ships, but here the rebels are again, demanding that the _Enterprise_ leave orbit immediately or they'll kill one hostage every ninety minutes. He doesn't much care if the Council had him blast a few other vermin while they were at it, but he's a little irritated that even with an Imperial warship helping they couldn't competently clear up the main infestation. Not to mention, now these assholes have taken his Bones. _We will repatriate your people to the Empire in an exchange of prisoners at a later date,_ the message concludes. _Whether alive or as corpses is your choice._

Idiots. Jim would just as soon trace the message to its source and destroy them from orbit, hostages and all; he'd rather see his crew dead, no matter how valuable, than reduced to goods for barter. Except for Bones. They took his Bones, and by the time he's done with them they'll long for the mercy of a phaser blast.

"T'Amair, tell the so-called 'True Situlans' that the _Enterprise_ will leave orbit in eighty minutes," Jim orders his stand-in Comm officer; behind him, he can feel Spock's eyebrow raise like a change in barometric pressure. "Now hail the actual Situlan government."

In short order, five members of the Council appear on the viewscreen, drowsy and hastily robed, their orange faces blanching yellow when Jim tersely explains what their supposedly-destroyed rebels have gotten up to now. They apologize at tedious length, waving their hands in choreographed dismay, and Jim lets himself slump in his chair under the stream of asskissing and nebulosities, lets his eyes visibly glaze as he remembers Bones carrying on about the Situlan pandemic. She wanted to go waste time helping, but Spock skimmed a couple of reports and estimated the Situlan losses were within acceptable limits, and Jim wasn't about to risk her or his ship. He thinks about his CMO's pleading face, her dark hair mussing under his hands, until the youngest Councilmember present dips her shiny red chignon as she murmurs, "Perhaps with Imperial aid we might have stemmed the Kastra Fever outbreak earlier, and retained a greater hold over the disaffected territories--"

That's what Jim's been waiting for, and at least two of her fellows realize it, slanting their amber eyes towards her rather than him as he inclines his head. "Perhaps an Imperial Planetary Governor might be instrumental in organizing your disordered internal affairs," he purrs, and watches five Councilmouths drop open. Holding up a hand before they start another round of whining and begging, he continues, "Not that I give a flying fuck about your internal planetary affairs, except as they affect my ship and crew." Such as Bones, Jim thinks, letting his fury chill his voice. "Which right now they do." He sits up now, watching the Councilmembers stare at him in horror, the one with shiny red hair wilting like a blowtorched flower. "You're already going to regret allowing your territories the luxury of disaffection, especially when Her Imperial Majesty learns of what happened here, and you will regret it so much more if the slightest harm has come to any of my abducted crewmembers."

A quick gesture and T'Amair cuts the connection just as Scotty hails the Bridge. "I have them, Captain!" he announces, and Jim throws the map he sends up on the screen. It shows a small archipelago off the Northwest Coast, offshore to two of the rebel territories, a little flock of islets with one of the more eastward highlighted in forcefield red. _Aneida,_ he reads, and the name already sounds doomed.

Jim exhales, watching the pieces falling into place, and bounces out of his seat. Spock inhales, a precise query in a breath; Jim grins, still facing the viewscreen as he answers, "Don't worry, Spock, by the time we're done here it won't actually matter when we go."

"Yes, Captain." Spock steps forward as Jim steps away.

Jim cracks his neck and heads for the helm. "Sulu, ten of your best shots and two of your biggest guys to Transporter Room One." Jim smacks Sulu's shoulder, the thunk of hand on flesh louder than her pissy little huff, and turns towards the corridor doors. "Tell them to bring their multi-level phasers. Mr. Spock, you have the Bridge."

A chorus of 'Aye's behind him, Jim heads out to retrieve his Bones and his crew.  


*@*@*@*

When Transport Chief Kyle lurches to his feet, legs gangly below his rough gray smock, and shouts, "The Captain! The Captain's come for us!" Jim frankly does enjoy the cheering. He spreads his arms wide as ten of his crew rush up to the force fields walling them into their cells, as ten voices call out the praise he deserves.

Meanwhile, of course, he glances around for the booby traps, but the panels controlling the force fields really seem to be the cheap ready-made sort that shut off when damaged; Jim phasers the nearest one and the field simply dissipates without even zapping the ensign inside the cell. "Escort our shipmates to the atrium," he murmurs to Suhail and Giotto as he strides down the hall blasting panel after panel, and his crew jump out cheering, shivering a little in the damp winter air.

Bones, of course, isn't cheering. She's waiting at the end of the row, one eyebrow cocked above the hottest little grumpy look, her bare rounded arms folded and the smock hanging off her curves like Risan lingerie. Jim has to shove down a pulse of pure, strange gladness at the sight of her standing so calmly, holding a square white case in her left hand; he flicks his gaze over her and doesn't see a single bruise he didn't put there, and when he gets back up to her face her plump-lipped scowl makes his grin stretch his cheeks. First things first, though, and he goes over her panel with extra care. If he had only one rigged forcefield he'd use it on his enemy's favorite, but hers appears to be exactly the same as the others.

If it's not, he thinks as he aims, he has twenty-seven captive Situlans who will wish for death a long time before he lets them have it. The panel explodes in the same spray of yellow sparks as all the others; Bones takes a breath and steps out of her cell, gingerly on her bare feet, and turns dark eyes up to him. "Captain," is all she says, all Jim lets her say as he grabs her arms and kisses her so hard his mouth crackles against hers. She makes an annoyed little 'mmph' sound, but she parts her water-sweet lips and returns the kiss.

Eventually he feels the rounded edge of the case she holds, pressing into his chest. There's still a job to do, and he owes himself some revenge, so Jim pushes Bones back enough to see what she's got. "Doctor," he says, imitating her cool tone. "A stasis case?"

"They got eleven of us and three fingers." She glances at the case. "A woman's, I think, and by the skintone and that shiny polish job I'm betting Lt. Commander Uhura's."

Just a few moments longer and the Security officers will have herded the rest of the crew around the corner, so Jim keeps her talking. "Yeah, they're Uhura's. She and Spock'll be glad to see them. But you made the Situlans give you a stasis case? No extra clothes or anything? Not that I mind this outfit on you."

Bones just snorts. "I told our hosts here--" She rolls her eyes with her usual exasperated vigor, and Jim feels a laugh threatening to bubble up. "They were gonna give me something to keep these fingers in until you brought us back to the _Enterprise_. I told them you were coming, too, that if they knew what was good for them they'd return us unharmed before you got here." She shakes her head, hair tumbling around her shoulders. "Poor impractical fools. I --" She looks down, at Jim's chest as if she can see through to his heart. "However you're thinking of handling them, I would rather not watch."

The corridor's clear. "I won't kill anyone in front of you, Bones." Jim curls his fingers around her shoulder, pulling her warm against his side. "C'mon, I want to get my crew back to my ship."

Bones nods, slumped heavy with relief against him, and lets Jim lead her back through the concrete-grey corridor. It's not until they reach the atrium that she looks up, and Jim watches her eyes widen as she sees her fellow abductees lined up against the wall, three of the Security detail keeping them at careful phaserpoint.

Jim makes a note of his Quartermaster and a few others who stand at ease, postures relaxed, grateful for the chance to die as Imperial officers rather than live as captives. He gives them an approving smile as he slides his hand across Bones's back, planting it between her shoulderblades to give her a little push. "Go on, Dr. McCoy," he tells her softly. She flashes him a tight-lipped glance, her guileless eyes too wide with confusion to glare, but obediently heads over, her shoulders twitching as she walks into the field of potential fire.

She's either just as transparent as he's always known her to be, or for the last five years she's consistently been the best liar he's ever met. Either way, Jim has more to deal with right now than just his Bones. He tears his gaze from her rumpled hair and careful feet, and glances past the splintered polymer and twisted metal of the former transporter pad to the two cells facing the atrium where his troops have detained the captured rebels behind appropriately crackly force fields. "Good work reprogramming these panels," he tells Lieutenant Riley, who nods crisply, gaze flicking past Jim to Kyle against the wall. Jim lets him get away with it for now; there will be time later, after this situation's been dealt with.

"You see, my people, how the Empire treats theirs," declares the blue-haired woman who gave herself the ridiculous title of First Among Equals. She's been carrying on ever since they caught her, trying to rally her troops' with bombast, but Jim sees nothing for her to work with but hollow eyes in pinched faces, ragged uniforms and drooping shoulders. They look like people who've been stretched too thin for too long, and their defeat is almost too effortless to be fun.

Almost, but not really. "Come here," he tells Firstie, who lifts her blue head high as her people huddle around her. "Now," he adds, and she gently pushes them aside and strides up to the force field, not flinching as it hisses and zaps at her. Jim watches the pops and flashes reflect in her shining golden eyes and decides he likes her as he reaches through the tingles, grabs her arm and drags her into the force field. Firstie's rebels gasp louder than she does, and the ones in the next cell rush their field as she stiffens and convulses on her way through, a sizzling electrical nimbus framing her rigid body; her heels dragging across the floor, she topples jerkily forward until she's completely free of the field, then collapses into a shivering huddle at Jim's feet.

The charging rebels bounce back into their cell. Their force field's not letting them through, not without Jim personally providing a pass. Riley outdid himself this time.

Jim generously gives Firstie a half minute to catch her breath and look up at him with what she thinks is a searing glare. He gets fiercer looks from a sleepy Bones, and he just laughs and waits another few seconds for her to straighten her trembling shoulders and say, "We are all prepared to die for Situla. You can destroy us individually but you cannot destroy our planet's freedom."

"Oh, stand up already." Firstie does, wavering to her feet, and Jim thumbs his phaser as he tells her, "Did you know the Ruling Council asked me to turn over all rebel leaders alive, as unharmed as possible?" She holds her head high, but there's fear in the depths of her lantern eyes. "I think they want to talk to you."

With that he phasers her, and she drops like a sack of rocks. From the corner of his eye he sees his Bones press her fingers to her mouth, other fist clenched beneath her elbow, while the rebels start up again with their cursing and wailing. "Shut up, she's only stunned," he tells them, and watches his people boggle in their turn, then forget that confusion to worry about their own skins as he stalks over to them. "As for you, soldiers of the Empire, one of you is a spy." They immediately toss suspicious glances at each other, and Jim keeps the edge of his vision on Riley, just in case the Lieutenant gets any ideas about helping Kyle. "One of you gave these idiots," he continues, tipping his head towards the rebels, "the names and locations of who to take." They're all staring at him now, Bones appearing no more or less shocked than the rest. "One of you sold out your fellow crewmembers to be yanked off the ship and plopped down naked in this mudhole." Not to mention the trick with the shields' timing that let the Situlans snatch them in first place, though Chekov _has_ sent the most amusing updates as he figures that one out. "One of you endangered my _Enterprise_."

Jim takes a breath and resets his phaser. "If you step forward now and identify yourself, I'll make you a deal. One clean shot and it's all over. No Agony Booth, no interrogation sessions, no treason sentence, no Imperial execution. Just the swiftness of a phaser blast. Come on, make it easy on yourself, step forward." He looks into each of their eyes in turn, pulling his gaze along Bones no faster and no slower than anyone else, though he can feel her shocked face tugging at his attention, see her chest rise and fall at the corner of his eye.

Transporter tech Ensign LeBlang is breathing fast, too, and he and Kyle are the only two from the same department. Everyone else is a singleton.

Jim waits. The forcefields buzz. No one moves. After a full ten-count, Jim snaps out his communicator, holding it in his palm so everyone can hear. "Kirk to Uhura. Lieutenant Commander, do you have my spy?"

"I do, Captain." She sounds gleeful, but then the spy also cost her three fingers and some considerable pain. "Ensign Petzen LeBlang." Who predictably makes a break for it, but Sulu's big guys, Giotto and Tehimura, grab his arms and force him to his knees. Uhura continues, smooth and implacable over LeBlang's sputtering, "He sent all his communications from others' accounts -- and blind-copied himself on the messages."

"Dumbass," Jim agrees aloud with her implicit contempt. "Uhura, Dr. McCoy has something for you when we return. Kirk out." Jim watches Riley's lip-chewing as motions the Security detail to holster their weapons; he waits a few beats longer until he glances at the Lieutenant, and as soon as he nods permission, Riley quick-marches over to Kyle, stopping nearly too close to have room to salute. Jim could almost grin at how sweet they are.

Instead he grins for another reason, slowly pulling his lips back from his teeth as he crosses to LeBlang, who gibbers, "Captain, please, I can give you my contacts in Neidarcivita, I can--"

"Break it," Jim tells Giotto, who snaps LeBlang's arm like a stick, ending his words on a howl. "Wrench it," he tells Tehimura, who twists the other shoulder from its socket as LeBlang chokes and sobs. "Now cuff him and leave him to me. Disable the shield emitter and prepare for return to the _Enterprise_."

They drop LeBlang at Jim's feet and move off, and Jim balances the temptation to stomp the traitor's head until it caves satisfyingly under his boots with the need to catch up on today's wrecked schedule. Besides, he did promise Bones. "Sir, please," LeBlang whimpers thickly. "Don't you even want to know--"

"No," Jim says and steps past him, leaving LeBlang to blubber as he heads to where Bones stands by the wall. Her shoulder's rigid to the touch, but she doesn't shy away as Jim curves his hand around her arm and announces, "_Enterprise_, twenty-three to beam up." The shield goes down again, and they leave behind twenty-six Situlan idiots, an unconscious rebel leader and one whimpering spy.

After that it's just mop-up. As he follows her off the transporter pad, Jim slaps Bones's ass and tells her, "My quarters, 1900." She rolls her eyes at him, face forward and head high, and strides off to Medbay with the stasis case in hand. Rand meets him on the Bridge with coffee and an apple pastry, and as she turns to go he appreciatively squeezes her hip, nods to Spock and settles into his chair.

Chekov's back in his Navigator's seat, jittering hilariously, Sulu's doing pretty badly at hiding either her smirk or the fondness in it, and Jim chews on a sweet mouthful to keep from laughing. Between bites he says, "I know you want to blow shit up, Mr. Chekov, but just let me finish my snack here," and watches Sulu rub her nose to hide a grin as Chekov's ears turn pink.

"I await your orders, Captain," Chekov says stiffly, and Jim downs the rest of his coffee in a loud leisurely slurp, stands and strolls up to the helm.

"Well done, Lieutenant," he says, smacking Chekov's shoulder. "And now your patience will be rewarded. I want you to destroy every island in that archipelago _except_ Aneida." Chekov glances up at that, his smoke-green eyes gleaming, and beyond him Sulu cocks a sleek eyebrow. "Work west to east, and take your time. I want everything incinerated down to the waterline.

"Sulu," Jim adds to his pilot, "use the high-res sensors to keep an eye out for any refugees for me, will you? I want to know where they run to." Jim steps back a pace so he won't drop crumbs in Chekov's freshly neatened curls, and finishes his pastry as Chekov gleefully burns the islands off Situla's surface, their coastlines crumbling on the map.

"Several watercraft just left the islands around Aneida, heading eastward towards the coast," Sulu reports as Jim chews the last bite. "Their trajectories suggest the northern port."

"Evethicivita," Jim reads off the map. "Let me know the second the first boat hits port. Chekov, lock onto Evethicivita's center. Ready..." As they watch the islands crumble further, superheated water and firestorms starting to add their measure of destruction, Jim imagines little flecks skimming across the map, fleeing the devastation with their cargoes of freaked-out refugees, running for the safety of the northern territory's big coastal port.

"First boat," Sulu announces.

"Fire, Mr. Chekov." Jim pictures all those shocked faces on all those overcrowded little vessels as they watch Evethicivita explode, crumbling into the ocean before them, and nearly laughs.

"Captain," T'Amair says with careful tonelessness, "We are being hailed by the Situlan Governing Council--"

"Tell them to sit and spin." Jim keeps looking up at the map. "All right. Computer, expand map to show all rebellious territories. Indicate in yellow, with the largest city of each in red. Also highlight Neidarcivita."

The belt of rebel territories stretches across three landmasses, most of the thirty or so clustered around a temperate ocean. Neidarcivita glows from an outwardly loyal, gray territory, but one directly to the southeast of a rebellious one.

"How much more shit would you like to blow up, Mr. Chekov?" Jim asks, and Sulu coughs a laugh at Chekov's delightedly shocked inhale. Ordinarily, having glassed a bunch of islands and reduced a city to smoking ruins, Jim would've considered his point made by now.

"As much as you will allow, Captain," Chekov says, voice almost calm despite the fact that he's nearly bouncing in his seat. Ordinarily, no one dares touch what belongs to Jim. Such as Bones.

"All right, then. Destroy Neidarcivita, then pick any six of those lit-up cities and destroy them too, one at a time." Chekov snickers as his fingers fly over his console, and Neidarcivita starts to disappear from the city limits inwards.

Jim returns to his chair, crossing his legs as he watches his Navigator have a great day at work. Sulu's watching too, from the corner of her eye, as she asks, "Captain, shall I monitor refugees from these cities as well?"

"Nah, let them run." He glances over at T'Amair, who sits ramrod straight in her chair, her face porcelain pale. _Oh._ "Ensign T'Amair? Speak freely."

"I have nothing to report, Captain," she says crisply, hands folded in her lap, shoulders squared, Bridge lights gleaming off her inky hair.

Skimming his eyes over her poised form, Jim makes a mental note. "When Lieutenant Chekov is finished, hail the Situlan Council." By now the rebels and LeBlang should've noticed the islands crumbling around them, so he adds, "Oh, and Chekov?" Who nods attentively as the third city implodes on the map, "after you're done with these, go back for Aneida Island and scour it down to the bedrock." Meanwhile, Jim flicks through the to-do list Rand put together while he was on-planet, smiling whenever Chekov whoops softly.

It looks like a fairly busy day, but the aftermaths of conquest usually are. When Chekov's done laying waste and T'Amair announces the Situlan Council, Jim sees fifteen of them this time, the woman with shiny red hair conspicuously absent, and the rest sallow or purplish. The saggy-faced oldest wobbles forward, his hands out in that universal gesture of pleading, and wavers, "Captain Kirk, we beg of you --"

"I'm sure you do," Jim says, "but I don't really have time for it, after I had to rescue my abducted crew and deal with a suborned spy among my people, all before breakfast. So let me just say, you have three standard months to eradicate any remaining rebellion and bring your entire world back into line as loyal Imperial subjects. To that end, I will remit fifteen percent of your tribute during this time." Some of the anger-purple ones are turning pale. "If you fail in any particular of this we will disband your august council, and install an Imperial governorship in its place. Any resistance whatsoever to Imperial action will be met with the destruction of eighty cities as a first measure, not a last."

By now they're all pale, and one in the back is crying so hard her green chignon's shaking. "We accept the Empire's benevolence," says the oldest Councilmember, word by word as if each tastes bad to spit out.

Jim grins. "Good, because we won't be nearly so benevolent next time. _Enterprise_ out." He turns enough to ask, "Spock, are the surveillance buoys in place?"

"Indeed they are, Captain," Spock answers.

Warm with satisfaction, Jim relaxes into his chair for a moment before he says, "Then let's be on our way. Warp Five, Mr. Sulu," and gets to work on his upcoming busy day.

*@*@*@*

  
It's a long full day, but not a bad one. Some exhilarating action in the morning, reports full of success submitted in the afternoon, and the whole time his crew eye him with as much admiration as they do fear. All that and Bones to look forward to that night, grumbly and lovely and probably resentfully grateful beneath. At dinner she's not in the mess, but Jim doesn't think anything of it: without Joanna's socialization to consider Bones often eats alone or with her medical staff. He basks in the thanks of the rescued crew and their allies, including a delightfully blatant come-on from Lieutenant Vahey, and eventually disentangles himself to stroll into his quarters at 1900 on the dot.

They're dark and empty. "Computer, lights one hundred percent, and the location of my CMO."

"_Chief Medical Officer Leah H. McCoy is currently in her quarters,_" the computer returns in its sweet synthetic voice, and just like that Jim's ebullient mood drains away as he punches the wall panel. "Kirk to McCoy," he snaps, and gets of all things, _static_. Someone's blocked his communications to her.

His first thought is pulsating rage; his second is to hack the comm system himself, but this is why he assembled his crew of experts. "Kirk to Uhura," he calls next.

He gets a much more appropriate and aggrieved sounding "_Yes_, Captain?" before the visual switches on. Uhura looks like he woke her up, the room dark behind her, her hair wrapped up in bright cloth and her pretty eyes bleary, but then she had a busy day of spy-catching and surgery and all.

"McCoy's line is blocking my communications," he says. "Who set her account to do this?"

Uhura's mouth twists, but she has the sense not to comment. She divides the screen, narrowing his sight of her as she intently types one-handed into her console, occasionally humming. "Ensign T'Amair," she answers at length. Of fucking course. "She tried to cover her tracks but... yes, T'Amair. She also tried to make it appear to be my doing."

"And it wasn't," Jim says flatly. "Since McCoy gave you back your fingers and all." Not that he really expects she'd be that stupid, or Security would've delivered this call for him.

"I don't do comm-blocks, but I've undone this one for you, Captain." Uhura looks up at him, her smile gleaming and professional. He doesn't need telepathy to hear her speculations.

He bares his teeth. "Thank you, Lieutenant Commander. I'll handle your discipline problem for you, since you're still convalescing. Besides, you already have plenty of opportunity to wrangle a Vulcan." Her smirk congeals. "Kirk out." He smacks the panel off and stalks back and forth across his quarters a few times before he can even call Security, awash in the same dark anger as when the Situlan rebels thought to deny him his Bones. No one gets to do that. Including her. Especially her.

Eventually Tehimura comms for his orders regarding T'Amair and Jim can't even think of anything to do with the girl. For the moment he tells them to lock T'Amair up until he says otherwise, then heads out to Bones's quarters, so blinded by pulse-pounding fury that he almost doesn't remember that she gave up her double quarters now that Joanna's no longer with her. When he reaches the correct room his first try at entry is refused, and thinking he mistyped the code he punches it in again.

Refused again, and this time he looks at the error message more carefully. "INVALID COMMAND CODE 869," it says, and he recognizes one of the standard override blockers. Any redshirt could have taught her how, or set it up for her.

Jim has to laugh at that. "Oh, Bones," he mutters to himself, rubs his palms together, and bleeds off a bit of steam breaking in. It only takes him a few minutes, and there aren't even any electric shocks or booby traps, but he's feeling a bit less keyed up by the time the door slides open for him.

Her quarters are dark, too. "Computer, lights fifty percent," Jim orders, and she groans as he sees her, curled up with a pillow over her head, a bottle of something amberly alcoholic and a tumbler on the floor by the bed.

Both are upright, the bottle mostly full. Bones mumbles something that sounds like "I should've fucking gotten drunk after all," before she tenses and sits up, slamming the pillow down. She's wearing some long white thing with a seam closure up her chest and buttons at her throat and wrists, her hair is a disheveled dark cloud around her head, her eyes are red, her face is red, she's furious and gorgeous and he can feel the blood shunting from his brain to his dick even before she snarls, "Get out."

"Wow, that's insubordinate. Even for you." Jim strolls over, pulling off his vest along the way. "It's probably my fault, though, everyone knows I spoil you rotten." He's never had her in these quarters before, because her efforts to shelter Joanna were just so terribly cute and then he'd settled into the habit of making her come to him. Still, there's a first time for everything.

Bones sidles out of her bed, revealing a long white fluffy nightgown like something from five hundred years ago, all shapeless modesty trailing around her ankles. "I mean it, Kirk. Get out of my quarters." Her left wrist's unbuttoned, and Jim guesses there's a hypo hiding in the sleeve. "I'm not -- I'm not dealing with you, not tonight. Not -- no."

There are times when Jim would be amused by this level of defiance in his fucktoy, the chance for an invigorating game of cat and mouse, but today was really too long for this shit, and he wants her now. "Bones, come here. That's an order."

She keeps the bed between them, and the damn nightgown hides her legs, he can barely tell her stance by the placement of her toes. "No," she answers, head held high, squaring her shoulders just like Firstie did, her back as straight as T'Amair's.

This is getting irritating. "Over a dozen of the crew thanked me today, you know. Vahey offered to suck my dick. I would've expected a little more gratitude from you."

Her eyes flare furiously wide, that inhale is epic enough to show her breasts heaving even through the Nightie of Chastity. "Grateful?" Bones _shrieks_, and she hasn't lost it at him in... awhile. "You want me to be fucking grateful, Kirk?" Her anger buffets him like a physical force, warmth tingling along his skin, and maybe he's up for the cat and mouse after all.

"That's _Captain,_ and considering I personally conducted your rescue, yeah, I kinda do." He lunges across the bed, but that stupid gown doesn't quite billow like he thought it would, flicking teasingly against his fingertips as she skips back.

On the other hand, the view's magnificent, her blazing eyes and flailing hands as the rant finally comes in full force, and Jim lies on his belly on Bones's warm sheets and lets her yell. "Considering! Did you even consider the noncombatants, the _children_, all those people who had nothing to do with that stupid rebellion?" As he waits for her to possibly make some sense, Jim kicks off his boots. "Just stop it! Stop it! Do you really think you can destroy eight cities full of innocent people and just come wandering in here for a kiss and a squeeze?"

Oh, so that's what she's so mad about. "I subdued the Situlans, Bones. I did what it took." Not that he needs to justify himself to her, but... "I got you back."

"Me? _Me?_ Oh don't you goddamn tell me you did this for me!" There's her hypo, a bright patch of silver in her waving hand. "Who the Hell do you think I am, Helen of Troy? Am I supposed to thank you for destroying half a goddamn planet? Is that supposed to be some kind of fucked up compliment?" He sits up, and she flinches back another step, bumping into her desk. "Don't -- don't lay all those people you killed on me." Her voice cracks again, deflating, her arms sink to her sides. "Just don't. Just leave me the hell alone."

"No." Jim pushes himself off the soft bed. "No, really, this ship you're on is mine, and so are you." She ducks away from his hands, dodging towards the door, and as amusing as the thought is of her running down the corridor like an antique ghost, it's time to underscore words with action. He lines up his aim and catches her forearm; she brings the hypo in underhanded, making it harder to deflect without making contact, a good move, but he successfully smacks it away and pins her wrists to the wall beside her hips. She curses and thrashes and twists but doesn't even kick him, because she's his Bones, and he pulls her in and winds his arms around her, pressing his mouth to her hot ear as he murmurs, "You go ahead and fight me, Bones. I'm not letting go."

"Let go, you murderous bastard," she chants, writhing in his arms, "leggo, leggo, leggo." She kicks the air as he hoists her, struggling to break his grip instead of trying to hurt him, not that she'd get far if she tried. He tosses her onto the bed in a splash of white frills and lunges before she can roll further than her belly, pinning her with his weight.

Finally she elbows him in the ribs, a bright jab of sweet pain, and he grunts and laughs, cherishing the ache as he stretches to pin her hands, to catch her tender earlobe between his teeth. "So you want it rough tonight?" gets him a satisfyingly furious little scream, her visible eye wide and rolling as he presses her soft twisting body down into the mattress.

"I want you off me," she gasps, accent thickening, "get off me, get _out_." He lets go her hands to slide the miles of fluffy fabric out from between them and she starts pushing again, bucking against him as she tries to get enough leverage to tip him off her back, as if that's going to happen.

"Did you get this thing from a museum?" Jim wads the Chastity Nightie up around her shoulders, kneeling on her calves to hold her. "Take it off or I will."

"No," is the only answer he gets, apparently Bones's word for tonight. "No, no, stop it, no," as he grabs the collar and rips down the back, as he hauls it over her thrashing head and yanks it up to one buttoned wrist. He has to grip with both hands to rip it free, planting an elbow between her shoulderblades because she won't hold still and she won't stop saying "no."

Finally he can toss the stupid nightgown over the side and feel all her cushiony skin slide against his as she squirms, still fighting. He's actually a little breathless, his blood rushing with exhilaration; she hasn't fought him like this in a long time, and every twist rubs her panty-clad ass over his aching dick. "C'mon, Bones," Jim whispers as he rips his trousers open and shimmies them down, "I'll never leave you, you know that."

She shudders hard, her next breath a sob, and tries to squirm up from beneath him, keeps on fighting. He grabs her panties and peels them down as she twists away before he gives chase up the bed, catching her on her knees against the wall as tears start streaming down her face. "No," she gulps wetly, "No, no, get off me, no," each repetition a flare of heat beneath his skin, a throb in his chest.

"C'mon," Jim finds himself muttering back, his forehead pressed to her temple as he knees her thighs apart, as she keeps shaking and struggling even though all she manages is sliding that gorgeously rounded ass against him. "C'mon," he grits through clenched teeth as he grips her waist and lines himself up, and she's not wet for him but he's never minded a little burn. Her voice hitches, high and pained, she tries to dig her knees into the mattress for leverage as if she could ever get away from him. As if he'll ever let her go. "C'mere," he growls, tightening his hold, pinning her wrist against the wall as he jerks her hips back and gets inside her.

"No!" Bones screams, barely a word before it shatters into sobs, as she flutters tight around him, her ribcage shuddering under his. He gasps into her hair, sweet and savory with her sweat, and shudders in return, pleasure already pooling at the base of his spine. It takes him a long moment to get his breath back enough to start moving, his abdomen clenching with every frictiony stroke, to get his eyes open and see her bloodless-knuckled grip on the pillow, the shiny tracks of tears down her face and her parted lips red as a bruise. "No," she whimpers, tense and trembling even though she's stopped trying to get away from him.

"Bones." The warmth blooming in Jim's chest pushes her name out of him. "Bones, say yes." He lets go her shifting-boned wrist to tuck his fingers under her chin, tugging her mouth towards his. "Say yes," he breathes as he rocks his hips into hers, her lips full and quivering against his. "Say yes."

She trembles when he kisses her, her mouth, her skin, all around him. She shakes as he moves his lips as gently as he can, thrusts as evenly as he can despite the fire racing down his nerves. Then she gasps through her nose and viciously bites his lip, shredding it between her teeth.

Jim doesn't rear away from the pain, just another electric rush down his nerves. He chuckles into Leah's mouth, reaching up to hold her head steady as he pushes into the kiss, reaches down to grip her curved thigh as he lets his hips piston, driving into her, chafing up pleasure. She cries out sharply into his mouth, sliding high as he shoves harder, and he growls as he comes with their lips sealed together, sunk as deeply into his Bones as he can get.

Every pulse ripples all the way through his body, sparks flying behind his eyelids, crackling over his skin in crazed fragmented electricity, engulfing him in searing bliss. He shudders and collapses across her back like he's been stunned, like he's dying, and the tremors loosen his fingers enough to let her wrench her head away, coughing the way she did this morning. Her face is probably red again, but it's too much bother to lift his leaden eyelids and see; he smooths a hand across her wet cheek, pushing her hair back behind her ear, and she makes an unsteady little noise in her throat that he feels as vibration more than he hears.

For awhile Jim lies there downright limply, Bones breathing beneath him. She didn't come, or even get close, and usually he's more unselfish than this but tonight maybe he'll leave it alone. Eventually she snuffles an annoyed little Bones-ish noise, and he smiles into her hair as he scoots off her. "God _damn_," Jim mutters, scrubbing his cheek against her pillow for the faint rasp of his stubble and the scent of her hair, "if it makes you this lively I'll have to conquer a planet every day."

For a second he doesn't hear anything but his heartbeat thumping in his ears. Then Bones gasps, he opens his eyes, and her eyebrows look ready to fly off her face. Grinning, Jim decides to let her get a slap in, or even punch him as he watches her fist wad up tightly, but her face crumples and, shit, she starts crying again, covering her eyes with her hands as she curls up. "Fuckit, come here," Jim sighs, pulling her against him, and she stays folded up tight for three whooping sobs before she sags into his hold, pressing her face into his chest, hot tears and hysterical weeping against his heart.

She feels infinitely fragile when she cries like this, but she never breaks. Jim tangles their legs together and Bones lets him, he strokes her hair as she shakes in his arms. Eventually she mutters something against his chest that he expects to be some version of how much she hates him, and he almost answers, 'No you don't,' before he realizes the syllables don't match up. He thinks about it, and what she mumbled is, "You didn't have to."

Jim groans. "Shut up, Bones," he says patiently, almost too tired to go another round with her. She looks up at him, her eyes huge, her face blotchy and smeared wet, and he thinks about telling her she's beautiful just to see her gather herself into sarcasm, wonders why he's explaining even as he adds, "I had to."

She just persists, because she's her stubborn self, "Not the cities. They were beaten, you didn't have to."

"Bones," he sighs, tipping her onto her back, stroking her messy hair off her hot forehead. His chest is wet with her tears, his lip throbs from her bite, her wide dark eyes pull too much honesty out of him. "They took _you_. I would destroy planets for you."

She shuts those eyes, her forehead creasing as if he's Agonizing her. "Please, goddammit, no," she whispers. "I don't want that. I would never want that."

Despite her lingering stubbornness she's winding down, so Jim just lays his head beside hers, tucking his hand around her soft breast, gently thumbing her nipple. "This is how it is," he whispers into the curve of her ear, as his mother once told him when he was a child begging not to be returned to the Imperial Academy, a very long time ago.

She shudders once, all over, and whispers back, "Then I wish I were dead," but she still falls asleep in his arms.

*@*@*@*

  
Five days later, Jim sits in his chair, chin propped on his knuckles as he watches stars rush across the viewscreen, and thinks about Bones. Careful not to daydream too intently, he's arranged himself in a formidable brooding pose. Anyone watching him would think he's contemplating the upcoming mission, but he's already planned as much as possible for the Jemnipi revolt; now they just have to arrive and see the sitch on the ground, and everyone on the Bridge knows what they need to do to prepare. Jim leaves his crew to it, listening the soft susurrus of breathing under the harder clicks and woops of the electronics, and thinks about Dr. McCoy in her Medbay, presiding over her own bright lights and beeping machines.

The last time he saw her in person was in her office there, the day after their disagreement over the Situlans. When he woke up she was still out cold, her cheeks chapped from all that crying, and he left her a message to drink some water and not to step into Medbay until 1200. When he strolled down there at 1530, everyone gave him the Level 2 worried glances from the corners of their eyes, which usually happens when Bones is so magnificently pissed off she's shouting and waving her arms at everything in reach, but he didn't hear even an echo of her anywhere. Finally Nurse Temelae broke the usual Medbay policy of not meeting his eyes and directed him with one cool gray glance to the CMO's office, and when he stepped in Bones stared up at him from under bruised eyelids. "I owe you," he told her with his best cocky smile, but she just nodded, full mouth a soft line, her body almost limp in his hands as he pushed her up onto her desk, as he peeled her uniform trousers down her legs and knelt between her thighs.

He would've let her repair it if she'd wanted, but she left herself bruised, a little swollen under his tongue, and his bitten lip throbbed as he got down to business; she made him work harder than usual for it, but soon he had her keening and clutching at his hair like always, had her plush thighs tight around his ears as she came against his mouth. He stood up licking her off his lips, with a bellyful of satisfaction and a vague hot thought of wrapping her legs around his waist, but she'd folded her arms around herself and stared blankly down at her bare wet thighs. He had to say, "McCoy," to get her to look at him, and her gaze was hollow, distant, focused on something beyond the hull.

She goes quiet like that sometimes, but she's always back to normal after a few days. Jim kissed her quickly and ordered her on half duty, and her eyebrows didn't even crinkle, she just nodded. He left, grinning at her skittish staff, making a mental note to leave her alone for a few nights.

It wasn't like he wasn't getting laid, after all. He took Vahey up on the blowjob, shared a glass of distilled degreaser with Scotty as they chatted about the freshest young Engineers, and cornered Ensign Crepheli in the rec room because the kid's blue eyes and dark curls remind him of something he once found while hacking his way through the Academy records, a holo of one Cadet Christopher Pike. However, he's pretty sure he knows all of that bastard's bastards and Crepheli's not one of them; at any rate, once Jim got the ensign pinned and taking it beneath him, the kid hollered and swore and spurted like no one but himself.

Now, Jim considers his options, Maybe he'll go find Crepheli again tonight. Maybe he should stop daydreaming, when movement at the edge of his vision actually startles him and it's more effort than usual to keep from jumping. It's only shift change, although Jim's senior staff all know to be back on duty in seven hours; Jim's already sent Spock off for his beauty fumigation, and might as well grab a nap himself. "Mr. Sulu, you have the conn," he says, pushing himself up against gravity gone a touch strong. "And stay out of my chair." Sulu barks a laugh, narrowing her eyes.

As Jim steps into the corridor he spots T'Amair heading towards him, her head bowed, and he smiles at the shiver that ripples through her as she sees him. Vulcans do their best by Surak not to have tells, but after watching her shudder for two hours in the Agony Booth he's pretty sure he's learned a couple of hers, such as the stiffness in her neck when she lifts her head and salutes with a soft dry, "Captain."

"Looking good, Ensign," he says jovially as he passes her. If he'd let the Security officers on duty conduct her discipline and made Bones leave the bruises alone per standard, there would still be fading yellow and brown smudges across T'Amair's jade-porcelain skin. He gave her the choice, just for fun as his Security slavered in silent hope; when she chose the Booth he was just about to say 'Security it is!' when a memory hit him of Bones's big dark eyes and stubborn bruised mouth, without even the nice warm surge of desire that usually accompanies mental images of his naked CMO.

So he leniently Boothed T'Amair, and now as he watches her step onto the Bridge he realizes he could've touched her as she passed him, her bare shoulder or flexing waist, but he didn't lay a finger on any of that unmarked skin.

Jim considers his own whimsy. Bones called him 'notional' the last time he got her really drunk. He could have Vahey again, or Crepheli, or T'Amair or Rand, nearly anyone on his ship to relax him before his nap, but he isn't even in the turbolift before he decides he'd rather sweeten it instead.

This time his Captain's code lets him right in. Bones is in her bed again, facing away from him, atop rather than under the pillow this time, the fifteen percent lights just enough to show that tonight's ridiculous Chastity Nightie is pink. "You gonna tear this one off me too?" she mumbles without otherwise moving.

"Not if you take it off yourself," Jim retorts, peeling out of his own clothes. Bones unbuttons her wrists and shucks off the armful of nightgown, dropping it over the side, and he slides in with her and throws an arm over her waist, tucking himself to her back.

She lies there as rigidly as a block of wood, but her hair smells too good for him to do anything but breathe and relax. This is her room and she could have anything hidden in it, any weapon she wants within reach, but that thought just laces Jim's blood with a dose of excitement to make up for the sex they're not currently having. He spreads his hand out over her belly, feeling the tender curve, and settles in. They can fuck when he wakes up, he thinks, get his blood moving before he has to go quash this latest rebellion.

"What're you waiting for?" Bones eventually asks in a sluggish drawl.

"Go to sleep," Jim mutters, his face sunk in her silky hair, and she does.

When Jim wakes up he doesn't want to move, he's so warm. Bones is curled up into him, her cheek against his shoulder and her arm tucked under his, her legs tangled with his beneath her light sheets, and he lets himself drift for a moment before he even remembers to wonder if he's been drugged.

But his vision's clear, he doesn't feel sluggish or heavy, just warm in her arms. He inhales and grins, glancing at the chrono beyond her head, and it's a little too late for even a quickie before he goes. They can save it for the victory celebration afterwards, he thinks as he nuzzles into her tumbled hair and kisses her temple, easing his arms away from her.

She sighs, waking up a little, exhaling softly over his chest. Then she flinches all over, the lines creasing back in across her forehead as her eyes snap wide open, and she pulls her arms in and wiggles back like she woke up hugging a snake.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Jim snaps, grabbing her bicep to hold her, pressing his fingers in so she'll notice. "Stop sulking already."

Bones winces again and stops squirming, vibrating and still. "Well, excuse _me_ for--" Her teeth click, she shuts them so hard, bright spots of red rising on her cheeks under her glinting, furious eyes.

"For what, Bones?" Jim asks, letting his voice settle low and dangerous as he drags her back to himself and wraps his arm around her. "What?" She shuts her eyes and presses her lips together like that'll close off her face; he lets go her arm to brush his fingertips over her temple, as feather-light as he can so she'll shiver harder, stroking her hair back from her ear and cheek as he studies her anger. "Are you still mad over Situla Secunda? _Really?_" She jerks her head sideways as if she could lie to him. "Wasn't that last week's planet? A proactive CMO should plan for today's, don't you think?"

"An effective captain should arrive on time for his invasion, shouldn't he?" she retorts, like she's trying to make him hurt her. He just laughs and pinches her cheek hard enough to leave a red mark, and when she gasps he kisses her, sweeping his tongue into her sleep-tart mouth, and lets go to get up.

He considers but discards the thought of locking her quarters as he steps into her shower to grab a quick sonic, and sure enough, he doesn't hear any tiptoeing around, no woosh of the door opening and closing. When he steps out his Bones is right where he left her, curled up in her sheets in the middle of her bed, arms crossed across her chest and knees drawn up. She watches him get dressed, her eyes bright as polished stones and her mouth still set in that plush frown, and he watches her watch him as he straps on his dagger and knots his sash; she looks so irresistibly tender and surly, livid fingermarks rising on the otherwise unblemished skin of her arm, that it's all he can do to step back instead of forward. "You should wish me luck, you know," he says as he leans against the wall by her door. "If the Jemnipi behave I won't _have_ to destroy any of their cities."

"Good luck," Bones says, her voice flat. Jim grins and goes over, grabs a fistful of hair and pulls her up for one last kiss, and when he turns away he can feel her gaze scalpel-bright on his back as he leaves.

*@*@*@*

  
Jim staggers off the transporter pad under the last fumes of his own power, blood surging through his fingers and the air searing the ragged-edged slash across his chest, but there his Bones is, waiting for him. She's snapping out orders like usual, but he looks into her cool eyes under uncrinkled eyebrows and feels the warning prickle that woke him a week ago, and this final adrenaline surge is all wild exhilaration. It hurts like grandmother-buggering Hell to laugh but Jim absolutely must, when after all that Jemnipi assassin's efforts he finally sees his death shimmering in his Bones's pretty eyes.

Her eyebrows crinkle down as her orderlies catch him and lift him to a gurney, as her mouth shapes familiar words he can't hear through the roaring tide in his ears, as she moves and works like she's going to put him back together one more time. But if she really wants to kill him this is her chance, and he can see her seeing it as she leans over him, a hypo in her hand, the other perfectly warm on his cheek.

There's no sting when she applies the hypo to his neck, and that gentleness can't mean anything but trouble. The roar recedes long enough for him to hear her, " -- take care of you, Sir, just lie still..." before the blackness rises, constricting his vision to an oval frame around her pale face and plotting hazel eyes.

All Jim can do with his last burning breath is laugh as the blackness closes over his sight. His Bones'll take care of him, one way or another, and he sinks into unconsciousness wondering with disintegrating curiosity if he'll ever wake up again, laughing all the way down.


End file.
